A Graphic picture.
We have been permitted to copy the following extracts from a letter written by a young officer who greatly distinguished himself at the
battle of Manassas.
Should his modesty take offence at the publication of his frank expressions of feeling and unreserved narration of events, our apology is found in the fact that the original was placed at our disposal by the courtesy of those to whom it was addressed.
The style is singularly copious, and the descriptive passages especially fine; and the more to be admired when we reflect that the letter was written, a la
Pope, upon fugitive scraps of paper, and
currente calamo.
The night before the battle !
Saturday night was spent in watching — The enemy's bugles, his drums, the rumble of his baggage trains and artillery; not only these, but their very words of command, being distinctly audible in the silent night.
The next morning partly refreshed, we were ordered over the ford, (
Bull Run,) as scouts in that direction.
I was creeping over the field, when he enemy threw a shell at my party, which exploded just in advance of us. Here we passed a body, one of the
Massachusetts slain, (shot the day before,) blackened and ghastly.
After a few hours we were ordered to our reserve, and, without breakfast, to enjoy as skirmishers.
The first reserve had been left in charge of
Willie Fowle.
I led the second further on, while the
Captain placed himself in the skirt of the wood, having established a line of sentries.
Here he watched, the enemy's batteries, and would report their movements to the
General.
Becoming anxious about him, I left my reserve under Zemmerman, and advanced to the spot.
The
Captain said: ‘"Don, I am awfully sleepy, and will just take a little nap, if you will watch those fellows there."’ I cheerfully acquiesced, and relieved
Jordan, one of our men who was the actual look-out at the fence.
Here I lay on my face, my time pleasantly occupied with the proceedings at the batteries, the ceaseless explosions of the guns and rattle of musketry from the great fight below being in strange contrast with the quiet scenery of mountains and valleys !
Showing How Yankee Sportsmen Flushed Game and themselves took Wing.
I unclasped my sword-belt and yielded myself to the seductions of the scene, and was startled from my almost reverie by the cry of
Lovelace, one of our men, posted on the right: ‘"Look out,
Lieutenant ! Here they are !"’ Looking around I saw their skirmishers within about thirty yards, with their pieces at a ready, and advancing, just as sportsmen approach a covey of partioges.
I shouted to the
Captain, and we dashed into the woods.
I then asked him if we should fight them ? He said, ‘"he reckoned we had"’ I then yelled to the boys, ‘"Come on, Old Do. minions ! Now's your chance ! Now's the chance you've waited for !"’ This shout of mine was heard by our forces on the other side of the
Run.
The boys say I said, ‘"Isn't this glorious !"’ But I don't remember.
On came the boys.
I led them, pointed out the
Yankees, and we drove them out of the woods and completely put them to flight.
As we drove them into the field, the enemy's battery, about four hundred yards off, opened on us with grape and cannister, and we ordered a retreat; not, however, before our man returned it, firing right at the guns, wounding, as I have since learned from a prisoner, several of their men.
The ‘"iron
Dice"’ battle.
We were exposed nearly half a mile without support.
The enemy had our range completely, and we were in great peril — the bells whizzing and humming all around us
Fowle, who had advanced his reserve, and behaved with great coolness, says the line of skirmishers extended a long way and intended to cut us off; but we gave a yell, and, as I have said, drove them home.
Arthur was too slow in retreat even after he had given the order.
I had to turn back twice to look for him.
How the balls rattled ! Every man would sometimes have to get behind a tree to escape the ‘"dreadful storm."’
A soldier's grave.
McDermot, one of our men, was killed by a grape-shot.
O yesterday I buried him He had lain out all night, and our eyes filled with woman's tears as we covered him with his blanket, and left him to sleep on the field where he had fallen.
Hurdles put a head and foot mark at his grave, with the inscription in pencil:
‘"
Dennis McDermot, of the Old Dominion Rifles, of
Alexandria, Va. die in battle, July 21, 1861, a gallant soldier and a good man."’
The retreat of the ‘"grand Army."’
What a glorious day Sunday was for the
South ! When the rout of the enemy came, down the long line of
Bull Run (Yankee's Ran? --
Eds.) up went a shout!
Oh! how grand it was ! Imagine the quiet woods through which the watching bayonets glittered silently, suddenly alive with triumphant hurrahs ! From right to left, and left to right, for seven miles they were repeated ! Then came the order to advance, and as we left the woods and gained the high and open ground, the grandest spectacle I ever saw men my eyes.
Company after company, regiment after regiment, brigade after brigade, army after army of our troops appeared.
We halted to enjoy the sight, and as our glorious artillery and dashing cavalry spurred by in pursuit, shout after shout rent the air.
General Longstreet, our Brigade
Commander, rode, along our line with his staff, and thousands of men flung their caps in the air, or swung them on their bayonets.
Col. Corse, our gallant little
Colonel got his meed of hurrahs; and,
an old negro who rode by with his gun, got no small salute. And, then the sunset came in a perfect glory of light sifted through the leaves.
